


Through the Looking Glass

by PrincessGemma12



Series: Drabbles [1]
Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2012), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, BDSM, Bottom Leo, Bottom Leonardo (TMNT), Bruises, Can be pretty much anybody, Chokers, Collars, Drabble, Embarrassment, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Implied Rough Sex, Implied/Referenced BDSM, Implied/Referenced Sex, Implied/Referenced oral sex, Just Leo thinking about shit, Leo x Whatever Dude You Want to Be Fucking Him, M/M, No Dialogue, No Play, No Sex, No Smut, No Turtlecest (TMNT), Pet Play, Prompt Fic, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Acceptance, Tcest if you want, Turtlecest (TMNT), Unnecessary Shame, implied choking, learning to self-accept, or if you don't
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-01 08:09:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18332069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincessGemma12/pseuds/PrincessGemma12
Summary: While digging through the attic of the farmhouse, Leonardo examines some of the things that have changed about him.This can be whoever you want with Leo, specific traits aren't ever specified.





	Through the Looking Glass

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! This is a fic based on a prompt my brother gave me. The prompt was "Looking Glass/Antique Mirror." Hope you enjoy! Again, this can be any Leo/{GUY} ship you want, basically, though I don't know how well many of the ships will work. Personally, I imagined R/L when writing this, since that's my otp, but you don't have to see the same thing I do, don't have to see any known ship at all if you don't want to!

Dust flew throughout the room as Leonardo tugged off sheet after white sheet, revealing the countless pieces of antique furniture—sofas and benches, boxes and cabinets, even a crib sat in the far corner of the room, away from the ladder. He had to wonder why so many beautiful items were simply sitting collecting dust, but he found that he couldn’t conjure any reason other than sad memories… and sad memories were what they were here to forget. Perhaps not _his_ sad memories but sad memories nonetheless. His lover needn’t worry over another’s sullen moments. He had his own to worry about.

But that’s why Leo had dragged the big lug upstate, to forget about family drama and disapproving fathers, about teasing sorta-sisters and scandalised little orange brothers. He felt selfish for it but all he wanted his mate to think about while they were here was _him_ , Leonardo, his turtle. He didn’t want his lover to feel ashamed of what he’d dragged the leader into, the kind of lifestyle. Didn’t want to feel that shame himself. All he wanted to focus on was his boyfriend, his… his…

His dominant. _His_ dominant, no one else’s. He was Leo’s and Leo didn’t plan on sharing. Not with anyone. Not even a friend, not a brother, no one. Not this week, not this _month_. He was _his_ , his pride be damned. Leo didn’t care _what_ anyone said when they went home, what they thought, he needed this, they _both_ needed this.

They needed this, needed away, far away, and April needed someone to look for something of her father’s in the house, so things worked out. April got her dad’s birthday present and Leo got to try out the 24/7 style without interruptions and without snide remarks from people who _just didn’t get_ , _wouldn’t_ ** _ever_** _get it_.

But he wanted them to, craved it like he did his lover’s warm palm against his cheek, his teeth pressing marks into his neck as if he were trying to devour him.

Another sheet was removed, the blanket of dust swarming away from the object underneath. An old, tarnished brass-framed mirror stared back at him, its backside as marvelous as he imagined its front. Smooth, shiny despite its desperate need of cleaning. He moved to the front, eyes immediately drawn to the ornate design of the frame, lined with ridges and peppered lightly with small beads of red glass. Even the reflective surface itself was magnificent, like staring into another world. The mirror was chipped in places and a bit dirty, not that _that_ was a surprise, but it still held a fine image. He could see himself almost perfectly.

His eyes, what his lover called his own personal set of oceans, seemed to shine in the dim light, unmasked swirls of emotions he just couldn’t get a handle on yet. Fear, hope, joy, sadness, he saw it all in his own eyes, over and over and over and over again, a never-ending cycle of turmoil. Then there was the rest of his face: his green lips swollen and reddened from his partner’s pleasure, his cheeks blackened with the mark of his hands. Even his neck was changed, nearly unrecognizable compared to his once-normal visage.

The collar he adorned was of a soft, fluffy material—the stuff you found on blankets. It was a light azure with sprinkles of the midnight sky peppered throughout its leopard print design, a symbol of his favorite form of play. The silver plate below his chin ended in an extended ring, a hoop hanging from it. In the back, the sapphire plastic buckle held it snug against his skin. It was arguably feminine, but he hadn’t been able to help but swoon when his dom presented it to him. He had others now, one with gold bells and a name tag, one with laces rather than a clasp or a lock, and even one that deemed him a slut—a special collar he’d picked out personally, just for special occasions. But this one, this soft, comfortable ring of fluff was his favorite—it was his first, after all. The only issue he currently had with it was how exposed it left his neck compared to his others—with this one on, the unnaturally dark skin on his throat showed, a sharp contrast to the gentle colors of the choker.

Then there were the imprints and scabs on his shoulders, and the fresh gauze that was tapped over a significantly harsh mark from a few nights previous, tainted with the smallest dot of crimson. He was a beat up mess, honestly, but found he was less and less embarrassed as he scrutinized himself.

Even as his eyes slid down to his thighs, equally bruised with long scratches on the outsides and deep bites on the insides, that self-consciousness kept fading, dwindling down to nothing but a small cup of lemon juice.

“ _Leo, can you come down here?_ ”

The voice of his mate snapped the turtle out of his thoughts, his shoulders tensing and head snapping toward the ladder.

“Yeah,” he called back, throat protesting.

As he descended the ladder, Leonardo pondered how long it’d take him to dispose of the last of the unneeded shame.


End file.
